


The Stories We Tell Ourselves

by RalphTime



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha Connor, Alternative Universe- Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternative Universe- Hybrids, Animal Ears, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Humour, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Omega Hank, Omegaverse, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Royal Families, Slow burn but every time they fight it gets faster, Young Hank, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27349486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RalphTime/pseuds/RalphTime
Summary: Alpha canine hybrid Connor Stern is eager to make his mother proud by becoming one of the King’s personal guardsmen.Prince Henry, a lion hybrid, is eager to escape his father’s constant derision at all costs. It’s not his fault he was born an omega, but try telling the King thatConnor is tasked with escorting and protecting the Prince (from himself more than others), just as the young royal is sent on a journey to the mainland.If all goes well, Connor will be in the King’s good books, and Prince Henry Anderson will be married off and never have to see his father again.This is exactly what they both want. This is a Happy Ever After... right?
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 40
Kudos: 27





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiamondSketcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondSketcher/gifts).



> Some things to note about this fic  
> \- It is woefully self-indulgent  
> \- This is an omegaverse/ hybrid AU where characters are hybrids of different animals and Connor’s specific breed is Belgian Malinois (for those who want to google cute dogs before they begin)  
> \- Hank is young in this  
> \- Sexual content and darker themes will be involved in later chapters, so be warned.
> 
> More tags will be added as we go along. 
> 
> Alright, bedtime story commences!

_ Once upon a time, there lived a mother and her three pups. The mother was proud of her litter, each beautiful canine hybrids of good breeding, just like her, and their ancestors before them. They were not of noble birth, but the Stern family had earned their reputation through hard work and dedication. And it was all about to pay off with these cubs. Their father had been a member of the Palace Guard, until an injury had confined him to his bed. King Richard, a monarch with “impeccable manners, for a lion” or so the mother said, had written him a letter on his retirement. He conveyed deepest sympathy at losing such a valued member of his guard, and assured him that if his sons grew to have the same loyalty and skill as their father, he should be happy to welcome them into the ranks of his own personal guardsmen. The Palace Guard was elite, but to protect the king directly? That was an honour awarded only to the very best. The Royal Knights and their families were granted noble status as a gratitude. Amanda loved each of her sons equally of course, but made no secret that whichever should inspire the king to make good on his promise, would have a special place in her heart. They were all alphas, and yet, as they’d grown, they’d become very different to one another. The youngest, Nicholas, was by far the strongest and most tenacious fighter of the litter. Yet he’d never mastered the social graces and careful politics necessary to work in the palace. The eldest, Colin, was quite the opposite: a bright and cunning boy who lacked physical prowess. Amanda had high hopes for her middle child. Connor had the grace, wit, strength and courage of his brothers. She used the family’s savings to send him to the best training academies and boarding schools.  _

_ At 24, Connor made all his mother’s dreams come true: He was personally requested by the king to serve in the Palace Guard for a very special assignment. He was to protect and escort the Prince, heir to the throne, and if he proved up to the task he would be awarded a place among the Royal Knights. Protecting the Prince should be easy enough. He was a recluse, of sorts, rarely seen outside of the occasional event at the palace, and even then he often left early. It should be easy work for a skilled canine such as Connor. Amanda was happy. They were about to live happily ever after.  _

  
  
****

As soon as the door closed and he was alone, Connor allowed himself a broad smile. The room was small and undecorated, more like a cheap motel room than palace living quarters ought to be, but Connor loved every inch of his new home. He set his suitcase down on the bed and started to unpack. Many people would be saddened to realise their worldly possessions consisted solely of a guard’s uniform, some workout clothing, a Glock 26 and a box of ammunition. Connor had never been like most people. ‘Average’ and ‘satisfactory’ were dirty words in the house he grew up in. His mother had been distraught when he’d once slipped to  _ second place _ in a regional chess championship. He closed the now stocked wardrobe and admired himself in the thin, full length mirror on its door. He felt like a winner. Brown hair perfectly tamed, crisply ironed shirt, navy tie- he straightened his tie- there, that’s better. He brushed lint off his navy blazer and took a moment to beam with pride at the reflection of the glittering, cyan Royal Crest embroidered upon it. He placed the gun inside the holster at his hip and some extra ammunition in the pocket of his blazer. Connor’s tail wagged behind him, proud of his reflection.

He slid the mostly empty suitcase back under his bed. All that remained inside now was a large envelope from his brothers that they’d gleefully insisted he “open in private”. For a moment he considered fishing it out, but then came the sound of footsteps on the spiral staircase up to his floor. He stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back at parade rest. There were only two rooms on this floor, his and the Prince’s, as it was paramount he be close by his new charge at all times. Connor briefly considered that the footsteps may belong to the Prince himself, and felt his heart skip in his chest with anxious excitement at meeting his first royal in the flesh. 

“Come in,” he called out at the polite knock on his door and a tall, smartly dressed bear-hybrid entered. Connor recognised him as the Captain of the Palace Guard and gave a respectful nod. 

“Connor, pleasure to finally have you with us.” The man smiled and shook Connor’s hand with an expression that seemed more like relief than pleasantry, and that put Connor slightly on edge. His ears twitched atop his head and he tried to catch the scent of the man as subtly as possible: the unmistakable citrus of beta male was cut with a bitter smell, it smelled like worry.

“Captain Fowler. I’m looking forward to working with you, Sir,” he replied. The Captain didn’t seem to relax. 

“I’m here to pass on orders from the King. You’re to begin work right away. The Prince is in the library, I believe, I can show y-“

Connor cocked his head on one side in confusion and before he could stop himself he’d interrupted a superior officer. 

“Why would that order come directly from his Majesty and not yourself, Captain?” Disbelief lit up the Captain’s face at this, but when he saw Connor’s cheeks tinge with embarrassment he seemed to soften. Connor was about to apologise for the outburst, but Fowler waved it away dismissively.

“It’s a fair question. I’ll be completely honest with you, Connor. I can see you’re every bit as sharp as your father was.” For a moment the men shared tight, polite smiles, then Fowler sighed and rubbed his face in his hands. “The orders I’ve come to relay- well they’re a little different than you may have been expecting. The King wishes to make one thing clear above all else: you are under  _ his  _ employ. You are to follow  _ his _ orders above those of the Prince.”

Connor nodded slowly, and Fowler leaned back against the doorframe, wringing his hands. 

“The Prince is… a difficult young man. Don’t misunderstand me, he’s my godson and a member of the royal family, I bear no ill feelings towards him. He has… secrets, you see.” 

Connor sat on the edge of the bed, hoping to make the Captain feel more at ease, but the large bear remained standing, staring at a point on the floor. 

“It’ll become clear to you once you’re around him, I’m sure. Your kind have keen noses, and he can’t use suppressants every hour of the day.” Connor raised an eyebrow at this but Fowler continued quickly. “What’s important is that you don’t… spread this information around.” Fowler glanced up at Connor, apologetic, small brown ears turned back and almost pressed down to his head. 

“Look, the King wishes to make three things perfectly clear. One, that the Prince requires ‘managing’ far more than simple protection. If he’s expected to be somewhere, you’re to take him there. You’re not just protecting him so much as the reputation of the royal family. You’re to keep him, er, safe from his own poor decision making, so to speak. Secondly, of course, you’re to keep him safe from anyone who may wish to take advantage of this… secret. And thirdly, any whisper of the Prince’s… state… outside of these walls, and you’ll find your life could become very unpleasant.” There was no threat in the man’s expression, only more sadness. 

Connor was a sharp man, and found reading between the lines easier than most, but when realisation hit, it left him in a startled silence. The royals had never explicitly stated their son was an alpha. It had simply been assumed. Lion males were very rarely anything else, and from the few images Connor had seen of him in magazines he hardly looked as though he could be anything else. He was usually in the background, or shadowed slightly by the broad build of his father, but he looked every bit the sturdy and intimidating alpha the king himself was. King Richard was known to be a die-hard traditionalist, and Connor could only imagine how difficult life must have been for the Prince, growing up as a disappointment to his father. Connor winced. He’d felt the sting of parental disapproval more times than he cared to count but at least he could  _ do _ something about it. Work harder, do better. He was beginning to understand, now, the sadness he saw in Fowler’s eyes. 

“I can assure you, Sir,” he said at last, “I have no interest in gossip, only in gaining a place in the Royal Knights. You can reassure his Majesty that I’m up to the task.” Fowler smiled weakly as Connor stood up and brushed some errant fur off his navy slacks.

“As for protecting him from himself, I’ve yet to meet a man who can outrun me.”

  
  


****

In the library, Connor found his patience and newfound compassion for the Prince tested. Since finding out the Prince was an omega, he’d been expecting a shy and melancholy young man. Perhaps he’d be grateful for an alpha companion for some comfort and sense of security. Connor’s mother had often told him omegas can get very anxious if not paired off by a certain age, and at 27, the Prince may well be feeling a little vulnerable at his lack of alpha.

The man in the library did not look like a prince. He was spread across an armchair, one leg stretched out on the coffee table in front of him in between untidy piles of books. He didn’t look up when Connor approached, nor when he introduced himself and gave a low bow. Connor waited beside the armchair for a moment. Nothing. 

Prince Henry Anderson’s pale blue eyes were fixed on the open copy of Stephen King’s ‘Cujo’ he was holding on his stomach. Connor’s tail flicked in annoyance, he despised that book. It painted canines in a very unflattering light. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m very happy to be working for you. I think you’ll find me an excellent-“

“You’re not” the Prince turned a page. 

“I’m not...?”

“Working for me. You’re working for my dad. He’s made that abundantly fucking clear”. The Prince’s expression was hidden behind a shaggy mess of golden hair that fell down his jaw, meeting equally unkempt facial hair. Connor moved himself between the coffee table and the armchair, placing an index finger inside the open book and pushing it down slightly to get the man’s attention. Up close, Connor had begun to smell something sweet yet rich and warm. The omega’s scent was intoxicating even this faint, it reminded him of red wine and dark, exotic fruits. His mouth felt a little dry all of a sudden, but Connor was a professional and had been trained well in keeping his hormones and instincts under control in the line of duty.

“I understand you may resent the intrusion, your Highness, but it doesn’t have to be an unpleasant one. I’m here to ensure you feel safe, above all” 

Henry looked up and set his cold blue eyes on Connor. He was unimpressed 

“Captain Fowler has advised me there will be a celebration tonight to mark the King’s return from his travels. I’m to escort you to your room and ensure you’re ready for the event in good time.” He smiled, wide brown eyes returning his charge’s scrutinising gaze. The Prince smiled back sarcastically. When he spoke, his tone was mockingly sweet, but something about the naturally deep rumbling of his voice gave Connor goosebumps across his arm.

“Oh boy, thank you! I’m so lucky to have a big strong alpha to pretend to be my friend!” His face dropped into a scowl, and he discarded the sarcastic impression. “Fuck off, Fido, you’re in my light” 

Connor but didn’t move. His smile faded only briefly while he recalculated his approach, then sprung up again in a broad grin.

“You’d rather I was completely honest with you? No false pleasantries?” 

“Mmmhm” The Prince was already back to reading his book. Connor straightened and tilted his head playfully to one side, tail lightly batting Henry’s leg as it wagged softly back and forth. 

“In that case, your Highness, I wish to inform you that in five minutes I’ll consider us running behind schedule, and at that point I’ll have to escort you to your quarters more forcibly.” He sat down on the coffee table and folded his hands in his lap. “I intend to prove myself good at my job, your Highness. With or without your cooperation” 

This made Prince Henry look up, with a quiet growl. He tossed his book over the arm of the chair, keeping Connor’s gaze. He grasped the arms of the chair and pulled himself up to stand. His large frame cast a wide shadow over Connor, who gazed up at the man above him with an innocent smile. The eyes glaring back at him were unfriendly, certainly, but they lacked any real signs of offence taken. In fact, the Prince seemed slightly amused by the bluntness, and was doing his best to hide that fact. They were silent for a moment, sizing each other up. Connor lost himself briefly in that scent again… now they were closer he could smell the higher notes to it, and the smell cigarettes clinging to the greying, white T-shirt covering the stomach in front of him. He was so busy trying to look composed, that he was a few seconds late to realise the Prince had spoken. 

“I’m sorry? I-“

“I said, lose the ‘your Highness’ crap. It’s creepy.” The Prince stretched and started towards the door to the library at a leisurely place. Connor was quick to his feet to follow him. 

“Absolutely… Henry?” It instinctively felt wrong calling a royal by their first name, but he figured that, as nothing about the man seemed normal for a royal, he might just get away with it. 

“Hank.” he said, not looking back. “Call me Hank” 

****

Connor waited patiently in Hank’s bedroom while he took a quick shower in the en suite. It was cluttered. A record player, boxes of vinyls, more books, a guitar, a person could amuse themselves for weeks in here without seeing the outside world. Connor grimaced a little as he realised that that may well be the point of most of this clutter. The King was hardly going to allow his son to travel or explore the kingdom much, lest his secret got out. As colourful as this bedroom was, it gave Connor a chill to conclude he was essentially standing in a prison cell. He took a step closer to the bookshelf and inspected the titles. These books were battered and well-loved. It seemed Hank had an avid interest in everything from criminology and philosophy to fishing and architecture. Behind him, Connor heard the water turn off in the bathroom and as he turned a pile of separate books caught his eye. They were sitting on the dresser, neat and clearly untouched. A few were old fashioned titles he hadn’t realised were still printed, books for omegas on how to maintain a good relationship and happy home for their alpha. He was about to move them to see the titles underneath when Hank called to him from the bathroom. His voice was muffled. 

“Pardon me, your H- Hank?” Connor called out towards the bathroom door. The door opened, letting out a little steam and Hank’s head popped into view, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. 

“Throw me a shirt from the wardrobe” Hank enunciated around his toothbrush, gesturing at the double doors to Connor’s right. Connor heard him spit in the sink as he opened the wardrobe and scanned it’s contents. Very few of these items were fit for a prince, and almost none of them suitable for a formal event. The vast majority looked like Kandinsky had thrown up on them. He spotted a black suit bag hanging at the far end and laid it neatly on the bed. He heard Hank step out of the bathroom behind him and groan.

“I fucking hate that suit. Swear to god it’s got fleas, fucking itchy” 

Connor smiled and turned to reply but faltered. Hank was standing just inside the bedroom with a towel tied around his waist. And nothing else. Droplets rolling down his chest were tripped up by the forest of golden hairs that spread right down over his slightly rounded gut and disappeared in a trail below the edge of the towel. He was drying his hair off roughly with a smaller towel, which made the fur on his ears stand up in all directions and was- in Connor’s opinion- painfully adorable. It was easier to see his shape like this. He was chubby, but clearly muscular underneath. His arms looked strong, warm. The heat of the bathroom had left a pink flush across his face and neck. Connor realised too late that he was staring at Hank’s neck. He blushed in the silence. Then both men spoke at once. 

  
  


“You should probably, er-“ “it would be best if I-“

“Hmm?”

“Sorry you were-“ 

Silence again. Connor broke it, 

“I’ll give you some privacy” 

“Yeah” Hank agreed, quickly. 

Connor turned on his heels and walked to his own room as fast as he could without looking obviously rattled. 

He leaned back on his bedroom door after it closed behind him and sighed into his palms. He’d expected a number of challenges in protecting a Prince, but chasing away his own arousal hadn’t been one of them. He sat on the bed and scratched nervously behind one ear, cheeks still hot with embarrassment. While the Prince seemed a lot more informal than most dignitaries, Connor was still pretty sure having an erection on the job would be a sackable offence. To avoid this, he grabbed the remote control off the bedside table and turned on the small TV set on the far side of the room for distraction. 

The first channel was a soap opera and Connor watched with glazed over eyes. His mind was still preoccupied with that pink flush across Hank’s cheeks. The way it matched his nipples which had stood hard from the cool air. He wondered what Hank would look like laying under him and moaning in pleasure, would he be flushed just like that? Would his eyes be heavy with blown out pupils as that gravelly voice cursed and begged for- 

He switched channels. Ah, perfect. An interview with King Elijah Kamski was proving the perfect boner-killer. Connor groomed his fluffy tail with his fingers as he watched. Kamski, at 26, would be the youngest King of the last few centuries, having inherited a vast kingdom from his childless uncle. The combination of his age, the sheer size and power of his new empire, and the fact little to nothing was known about the man had stirred up an intrigue around the man. Most people had an opinion on Elijah Kamski. Too young, a breath of fresh air, attractive. He was human, and that divided people also. Some felt that the new generation coming into power in human empires might reinvigorate and mend the civil yet strained relationship they held with hybrid nations. Others seemed far less sure that younger would mean more liberal. Connor’s father held no optimism about Kamski. 

“The trouble is” he’d told his son in his last letter “the younger folk may  _ seem _ friendly, but they’re less in touch with the history of our kind.” 

It was no secret that many of the hybrid nations were weakening. Humans had a way with technology, and it was impossible to keep up with them. At this point many hybrid kingdoms were only respected by humans due to traditionalist values and a healthy respect for their aging culture. As Connor watched Kamski laugh and cross his legs, basking in the interviewer's praise, he felt an instant distrust for the man. There was something about his smile Connor didn’t like. The way it showed a little too much teeth? The way it didn’t touch his eyes? Something. Connor bristled uncomfortably before switching over to a news channel. 

“ _ -causing widespread panic and unrest as Duke Carlos Ortiz, 49, was murdered today in his home by his own omega.” _

The reporter’s voice was accompanied by footage of a broken yet calm looking mouse hybrid being led into a police holding facility in handcuffs. He was wearing white silk, expensive and stained heavily with blood. His eyes were turned down to the floor, ears turned flat back against his head, tail limp. A ticker tape of rolling letters across the bottom of the screen named him  _ “Shaolin Ω Ortiz, 23: MURDERER” _

_ “The body was discovered in the early hours of this morning by a maid who then phoned local law enforcement. Sources inside the police department have confirmed that the omega has confessed to stabbing the Duke 28 times following a domestic dispute. More concerning are reports that, throughout the property, Shaolin Ortiz had daubed insane messages in his victim's blood, claiming omegas deserve equal rights to alphas!” _

Connor smiled sadly, he could hear his mother in his head, scoffing. He knew wherever she was now, the traditional alpha female would be rolling her eyes at the television and calling this liberal insanity. He missed her. But as the screen showed a photograph of Duke Ortiz, with his greasy hair and smug grin, his hand on the small of his cowering omega’s back at a party, he couldn’t help but feel a little conflicted. 

_ DUKE STABBED 28 TIMES BY OMEGA GONE MAD _ the ticker tape read

  
  


“Hmm, guess he had it coming.” 

Connor whipped his head round at the voice to see Hank leaning against his door frame, smiling at the television. Hank may not have liked the formal dress wear of royalty but boy, it hugged his frame like a lost lover. The red velvet tunic clung to his frame in all the right places, golden stitching and buttons up the left hand side perfectly complimenting the Prince’s now tied back golden hair. His thighs looked thick and sturdy wrapped in white jodhpurs, shins covered by black, well-polished boots. With his hair tied back like this, and facial hair trimmed, Connor noticed for the first time the sharp angles of Hank’s cheekbones and square jaw. The Prince turned his smile to Connor, eyes sparkling, then his expression dropped into one of confusion. He kept his arms crossed, instead looping his long tail in front of him and waving it at Connor’s eye level. 

“Earth to Snoopy? Hello?”

Connor closed his mouth, though he didn’t remember it falling open, and stood up abruptly. 

“Your Highness, y- Hank. I mean Hank. You look-... you’re ready to go I take it?” He stammered, a little louder than he’d meant to. Hank raised an eyebrow and exhaled out of his nose sharply. Amused was better than irritated, Connor thought. 

“Thanks for the glowing appraisal, mutt. Let’s get this shit-show on the road”


	2. Prince Charming Needs A Xanax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor attend a royal function, and start to get to know one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter after this is absolute filth and I apologise. In the mean time, have some slow burn
> 
> This chapter contains art by the amazing DiamondSketcher on AO3 who this art is gifted to. Without her this work would still be something I daydream about but she hyped me up a lot and helped me flesh it out into a real story. Thank you, my friend, you are aces

Hank was itchy. It wasn’t so much the irritating high collar of his tunic, though that was doing his fucking head in already. He was trapped, and feeling trapped always made him itch. He’d had to get dressed up like a dick and take pheromone suppressants once again to be paraded about in a room of grinning morons in honour of his father. At least now the dancing had started. He didn’t dance himself, that was a cruelty he’d thankfully been spared from, but the more people danced the less time they could spend staring at him curiously. From his spot against the wall, he gazed disinterested across the crowd of aristocracy.

Oh shit, he’d accidentally made eye contact with an excitable looking duchess, and she was now waving at him. He forced a smile and polite nod back at her, then turned away as she began giggling and tugging at her friend’s sleeve. ‘ _ That proves it I guess’ _ Hank thought to himself, ‘ _ the rich really do have no taste’. _

  
  


Involuntarily, he growled under his breath. He felt anxious. The ballroom was too bright, too loud. Hank was used to complete solitude or the company of the occasional home tutor. There had to be over a hundred pairs of judging eyes here, not to mention his father’s occasional unimpressed stares. And so much  _ laughing _ . Jesus Christ, what could possibly be that funny? He glanced sideways at a group of noblemen who were roaring with laughter, slapping one of their group on the back and doubling over. ‘ _ They’re laughing at you.’ _ The little voice in Hank’s head was a regular guest when he was forced to play the Good Son like this. ‘ _ They’re laughing because you look fucking stupid.’  _ He swallowed and turned away from the group to see four older women discussing something intensely over a table, looking around as they spoke as if afraid they’d be overheard by the subject of their gossip. ‘ _ Look at him, ‘that’s what they’re saying: Look at that awkward, fat disappointment.’  _

_ ‘They know.’  _ Hank’s heart beat a little too fast for comfort. He felt nauseous, and his suit was too hot. His father was looking at him. He didn’t have to look his way to know that, he was sure of it. 

He flinched at the feeling of a hand on his upper arm. He turned to see Connor watching him with curious concern. 

“Are you alright?” He whispered, leaning close to Hank’s ear. Hank glaredat the ground and grit his teeth, nodding. He hoped that, from a distance, it might seem as if he was carefully considering some piece of important information, the way his father did during state dinners. 

“Fine,” he said. He  _ wasn’t _ . If he hadn’t taken a suppressant before the party he was sure that ‘ _ distressed omega _ ’ would be pouring out of his scent glands in waves. Unfortunately, suppressants didn’t stop him from noticing other people’s scents, and Connor’s was distracting him. It was comforting. Hank was certain he was emitting the calming scent on purpose. Many omegas enjoyed the smell of calm alpha, it made them feel safe. It irritated Hank. 

He didn’t want to be  _ managed _ , least of all managed via his own unfortunate fucking biology. He was sick of having his entire being reduced to the fact he was an omega. People like his godfather Fowler didn’t see it as a bad thing, but they still insisted on preaching to him about it. Reminding him that he needed to watch his manners and temper if he was ever going to find a good mate. Encouraging him to learn about caring for pups so he could be a ‘respectable’ child-rearing omega some day. He shrugged the hand off his arm, and Connor seemed to get the hint as the strong scent faded and was replaced by his usual canine musk. 

Connor apologised quietly, and Hank nodded again, looking up in time to see a waiter pass with a tray of champagne flutes. He took two from the tray as the man walked by, downing one immediately and placing the empty glass on a nearby table. Beside him, Connor gave a curt, disapproving growl. Hank watched the frown out of the corner of his eye while he sipped his second champagne. 

“I’m sure you’re well aware that alcohol interacts poorly with suppressants,” Connor snarled quietly. He was embarrassed, clearly, at not having intercepted the glasses. Hank realised that it would be impossible for Connor to do much about it now. He couldn’t exactly wrestle a drink off of the Prince without causing a scene and alerting people to the fact Hank was being monitored for some reason. And he knew his father well, his orders would have been to maintain discretion above all. Hank grinned at Connor. His big brown eyes were darting about the ballroom, his thin lips pressed together in restrained annoyance. He looked kinda cute when he was pissed off. Hank admired the way Connor’s ear twitched every so often, catching parts of one conversation, then another. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank took another gulp of champagne and patted his endearing canine shadow on the back. “They usually hold up for a good couple hours even with a drink. But, if you start to smell something gross, I won’t need convincing to get the fuck out of here.” 

“That’s not the only issue,” Connor said, voice low. “You’ll be more likely to become intoxicated, and I doubt his Majesty would be best pleased with either of us if you make a scene in public on my first day.”

Hank knew drinking on suppressants got you wasted fast. That was one of the best things about the damn pills. He knew it might not be wise, but if his father insisted he be sociable it was the only option. It’d be far more disruptive if he had a panic attack in the middle of his dad’s official address. His thirteenth birthday celebrations had taught him that much. He grimaced and drank a little more. 

“Yeah, well my gut tells me it’ll be fine, so get off my dick about it.” 

“Substantial as your gut is, it’s been outvoted.” When Hank whipped his head around, Connor wasn’t looking at him. He was smiling and giving Captain Fowler a pleasant wave from across the room. “That’s your last glass so enjoy it,” he murmured. 

Hank knocked back the champagne and set the glass down beside the first. He wrung his hands behind his back, out of view, and his tail flicked this way and that, down low, in an unpredictable rhythm. More abrasive cackles, closer by this time. He winced and tried to keep his ears from flattening in distress. 

Connor seemed to relax, and take his silence as submission. He’d leaned back against the wall and folded his arms to continue surveying the room. Hank fixed his eyes on the tall glass doors on the opposite end of the ballroom, trying to ignore the drunk guests milling back and forth in front of them. He’d give anything to be one of them. They could leave, feign an upset stomach and go home to a quiet house. Maybe to family. Other people who loved them.

‘ _ Pathetic,’. _ the voice said. ‘ _ All the money and power in the world and you’re still unhappy. Ungrateful bastard’. _ Hank especially hated it when the voice seemed to be both his own and his father’s at once. It wasn’t enough that he had him as a captive, forcing a smile, the fucker was in his head now too. He huffed and batted his tail mindlessly against the leg of the table beside him. 

Across the room, the son of one of his father’s favourite Lords was picking a rose out of a table display, and offering it to a bashful looking squirrel hybrid at his side. The shy man blushed and seemed to be scolding him for mucking up the flower arrangement, trying to put the rose back and checking if anyone was watching. His mate just watched him, grin so wide it must’ve made his face ache. Love in his eyes. ‘ _ No point even thinking about it.’  _ Hank swallowed and frowned. ‘ _ No one looks at you like that. Why would they? Lion males are almost always alphas. For anyone to want you like that they’d have to know what you are. An anomaly. A mistake. A joke.’ _

“I’d like to see the garden.”

Connor had stepped away from the wall and into Hank’s field of vision, smiling expectantly. Hank wasn’t sure what to say. It was then he realised he’d been holding his breath and released it. Connor didn’t seem surprised by the heavy exhale. Astute son of a bitch. Annoying as he was, Hank had to give the guy credit, he was good at reading people. 

“You would?” His mouth felt dry. 

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me? It’s… loud in here, anyway. Some air might be nice.”

Hank didn’t have it in him to question or even make a snide remark. He was too grateful. Nodding silently, he started making his way towards the double doors. Connor followed behind him, one hand on his shoulder to ensure he didn’t lose the prince in the crowd. He needn’t have worried, people tend to move out of the way for royals. Hank didn’t correct Connor, though. His hand was comforting. Grounding. A footman opened the large doors, and stood to the side to allow them to pass before bowing and closing them again. 

The bubbling anxiety in Hank’s chest began to calm to a simmer. The air was cold but not uncomfortable. He breathed in the crisp night air, closed his eyes and blew it out slowly. Fuck, that was better. It was quiet out here. The party was still loud behind the glass but it was so much less oppressive. Hank walked a little further to a table and chairs beside a white rose bush, and sat down. He put his elbows on the heavily embroidered gold tablecloth, and let his head fall into his hands. Connor followed him, but didn’t sit. He had his hands clasped behind his back, inspecting little details of the garden as if he were in a museum. Hank rested his head in one hand and watched him, letting the other hand fall to the table and play with a cocktail umbrella he’d found on the table amongst the empty glasses. 

Hank saw Connor pause completely still, as if something had caught his eye, and for a second he worried there was an intruder in the garden. But Connor softened, then bounded over to the edge of a koi pond a few metres away that was set into the patio, surrounded by small bulbs of light. He crouched down at the side of it, the lamplight illuminating his child-like wonder. While Connor seemed distracted, Hank took the opportunity to snag an amber colored drink, that someone had left amongst the discarded glasses at the garden table, and downed it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His ears flicked to the sides momentarily as he forced the burning liquid down his throat. Ugh. He’d been hoping for whiskey but it was  _ rum _ . 

Connor seemed too content to notice, and Hank scoffed to himself.  _ ‘Some guard dog you are, huh?’  _ he thought. Connor was transfixed by the pond, eyes darting back and forth, following the patterns of the fish, his head tilted to the side. He reached out an index finger, and seemed like he was about to touch the surface of the water, but jerked his arm back before he could make contact. His ears were relaxed to the sides of his head and he was remarkably still, apart from his tail, which thrashed behind him enthusiastically. 

“Enjoying yourself, Scooby?” Hank asked slyly.

“I am!” Connor either didn’t notice the teasing in Hank’s voice, or was too happy to care “I like fish!” 

Hank hummed in agreement. 

“There’s a huge one in there, white with black spots. I call him Sumo. He’s my favourite.” He wound his tail around his hip and let it fall into his lap, so he could idly fiddle with the tuft of fur at the end of it. Connor was frowning at the water. 

“I don’t see him.” He prodded the surface of the pond with his finger, sending ripples out across it and causing several koi faces to bob in and out of the water near his feet. Connor’s frown was quickly replaced by a surprised laugh. His head cocked further to the side and he leaned in towards the pond- dangerously close, in Hank’s opinion- to chat to the fish as if they were pups. 

“Hello, hello, good boys and girls!” he muttered to them. “Sorry, no food for you.” He held his hands out as if to demonstrate, then beamed with joy at the water and started cooing: 

“Hello, Sumo! You’re a big boy, aren’t you? Big, fat,  _ handsome  _ boy, hello!” 

“Fuck off, he’s fine… s’glandular” Hank grumbled, his deep set eyes trained on Connor underneath a bushy frown.

Connor looked so at ease everywhere he went, and Hank really envied that. Watching him sniff at the flowers and wag his tail lazily as he got a close look at a paper lantern, Hank couldn’t find it in his heart to be bitter about it. A half-smile grew across his face. Connor’s confidence wasn’t like that of other alphas he’d met. They seemed to enter a room and feel they owned it, that everyone and everything in it was less important than they were. Connor was the opposite. He seemed to approach most things with a quiet, relaxed interest, as if he were confident he could enjoy himself, because if anything came up he’d deal with it in due course. Hank usually avoided the wider grounds of the Palace in the daytime but… he was grateful to Connor, maybe a little drunk, and damned if he didn’t look kind of cute sticking his nose into every flower he saw. 

“Remind me tomorrow to show you round the grounds,” Hank said, and then, to save face, added: “I’ll throw a stick for you if you’re good.” 

Connor laughed quietly and scratched the back of his neck. Seeing him laugh hit Hank harder than it should’ve. Fuck, he was adorable. Hank shook off the thought, and sat back in his chair feeling disappointed in himself for swooning over an alpha like some chick in a human soap opera. He fished in the pocket of his jodhpurs for a packet of smokes and a lighter. Connor came to sit in the chair opposite Hank’s, and continued looking around with a goofy, awestruck expression. Hank grunted to himself. At least he wasn’t getting shit for smoking, he’d half expected it. 

“If you, er, if you’re getting cold or something let me know, yeah?” 

Connor nodded, then fixed his happy brown eyes on the Prince. Hank tried and failed to ignore the expectant gaze. 

“What.” He said. Less of a question, more of a reminder to Connor it was rude to stare. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t more interested in mingling,” Connor replied, which drew a surprised snort out of Hank. Connor continued: “You spend a lot of your time alone, I take it, given your… situation. I would have thought you’d be eager to socialise.” 

“I don’t think I’ve  _ ever _ been eager to socialise,” Hank said, flicking some ash onto the patio. 

“I understand that most people of the upper classes find these events useful in finding a mate of similar status.” 

Hank screwed his face up and shook his head. “What the fuck’s that got to do with finding a mate?”

“What?”

“Status!” Hank had previously thought Connor pretty down to earth, and he had to admit it stung to find out he held similarly shallow beliefs to most alphas he’d met. 

“My mother always taught me to look for three things in a mate: A good class of family, good health, and adequate pup raising skills.” Connor listed the items off on his fingers as if he were recounting the recipe for an omelette rather than a soulmate. 

“Sounds like she’d get along with my Dad.” Connor looked pleased until Hank added: “He’s a superficial cunt as well.” 

Connor’s tail drooped. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice was quiet. 

Hank shook his head and rubbed his eye with the ball of his hand. “S’fine.” 

The pair sat in silence for a while. Hank smoked, and Connor’s fingers tugged fretfully at a loose piece of embroidery on the tablecloth. A small group of guests burst through the door behind them, laughing and talking over each other, until they saw the Prince looking over his shoulder at them blankly. They apologised and moved off to a larger table nearby, keeping their voices hushed. Connor, diplomatic as always, was the first to break the tension. 

“Perhaps, if you socialised more, people may surprise you. I’m sure there’s plenty of interesting people our age here,” he said, nodding towards the table of happy twenty-somethings across the patio. Hank stubbed out his cigarette in a discarded glass, the hot ash hissing in the small amount of liquid left at the bottom. He gave Connor a tired smile. 

“It’s hardly like anyone’s queuing up to talk to me.”

Connor shot him a good-natured yet scolding look. “And why do you think that might be?” he asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Hank mentally added ‘ _ teasing _ ’ to the mental list of states that made Connor look adorable. 

“I dunno, maybe not everyone finds me as  _ irresistible  _ as you seem to.” Hank grinned back. To his surprise, Connor blushed a little and smiled shyly, averting his eyes to the rose bush beside them. Hank faltered for a moment, then decided it was probably his turn to break their awkward silence.

“I know, I know. It’s the royalty thing, intimidates people.” He shrugged. “I just don’t see why people give such a shit about that stuff… it’s just what family you’re born into. Doesn’t make anybody special.”

Connor turned his face back to Hank’s. He was such an inquisitive man. Hank was used to the public being excited to see him, but it was pretty rare to find someone so sincerely interested in what he had to say. He suddenly realised how drunk he felt, and it embarrassed him, enough so that he tried to maintain his composure.

“It’s not like I’ve got anything to talk about. I mean, people like you, you’ve got life experience and shit. All I do is pace in my room like a goddamn zoo animal.” Hank gave Connor a self-deprecating smile, before quickly turning his attention back down to picking at the end of his tail. 

“You’re quite well read, for a zoo animal.” Connor said. Hank refused to look up at him but he could feel those eager, wide eyes boring into him. He scoffed. 

“Reading passes the time.” He replied. “My dad’s not a fan of my choice of literature, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before he’s happy with anything I do.” He laughed, mirthlessly. 

“I don’t see why not?” Connor sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Philosophy seems very fitting for a Prince. I’d like a future leader who bothered to learn about ethics.” 

“Eh, I guess. I don’t really think much about the possibility I’ll be…  _ that _ someday. I read it because it interests me.”

“It interests me too.” Connor nodded. “I haven’t ever had time to read much, but I’d like to. My mother says I don’t need to be well read to make it into the Royal Knights.”

Hank raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, still focused down in his lap. “Jesus, ain’t that the truth.” He looked up. 

“You do know, this isn’t a job interview? You don’t have to pretend you eat, sleep, and breathe guard duty. I know you have a  _ life _ .” 

Connor suddenly looked equal parts embarrassed and confused.

“Training  _ is _ my life.” He said. “You don’t get into the Royal Knights wasting your free time on recreation. The competition is too fierce.” 

Hank blinked in disbelief. His instinct was to make a joke to break the tension, but he couldn’t think of what to say. He was taken aback by the sudden understanding that Connor might be someone who could understand what it felt like to have parents whose love was conditional. The irony wasn’t lost on Hank: Connor was a skilled, polite and strong alpha male. Everything his father wanted him to be. Hank had status, birthright. Clearly that’s all Connor’s mother wanted. 

“Well…” he shrugged “I guess, I might find it kinda spooky having you sat staring at me all day while I’m reading and shit. Might consider you a more, uh, palatable guard dog if you read a couple things yourself while you’re here” Hank gave Connor a small smile, and Connor beamed back at him.

“That would be-... Thank you. I appreciate that.” There was a moment where neither man spoke and in that silence Hank shyly wrapped his tail around the back leg of his chair. 

“Are there any authors you recommend I start with? My presence might be less intrusive if I can talk about subjects you’re interested in” 

“Uhh…” Hank frowned. “I think don’t worry about being interesting, I’m not much of a talker…  _ usually”  _ he laughed nervously, then continued “But, Sartre’s a good one. I’ve got a soft spot for Wittgenstein-“

Connor’s nose wrinkled as he smiled and frowned at once “Wittgenstein? That’s an odd choice. Didn’t he believe that hybrids were ‘inaccessible’ to humans and there was no point interacting with us?” 

“Yeah, that’s the fella.” Hank nodded. “He’s famous for saying, uh, ‘If a lion could talk, he’d just.. talk shit, I guess’, which I think is harsh, but fair-” Hank was going to continue but he was struck by Connor’s laugh. It was gorgeous: unexpected and musical like the ringing of a bell. He couldn’t help but laugh along with him 

“You know he didn’t mean it like that!” Connor laughed. 

“I know, I know. I took it a little personally” Hank shot Connor a wry smile. “It’s all about experiences, right? If a lion could talk then a human wouldn’t understand him, because his cultural points of reference, his ethics, his whole life would be so different that they wouldn’t make sense to a human. Wittgenstein worried that hybrids were the same, I guess. And, between you and me…” Hank leaned in, wobbly from the rum. “I think he was right. Humans still don’t fucking understand us, they don’t even try. Hell, some of us can’t even understand each other.” 

Hank had expected a quick response to this; a scolding, or for Connor to roll his eyes at Hank’s cyniscim. Instead, Connor seemed to be staring intently at Hank’s face, running his eyes over every detail. Hank suddenly worried that he was figuring out he was drunk and was about to draw back in his seat, when Connor spoke. 

“I don’t know if I believe that. But if  _ you _ do then isn’t that more reason to mingle?” Hank shook his head in disbelief of how relentless Connor could be. “There’s all these people here, many of whom have been raised in similar wealth and social status to your own, shouldn’t that make them more likely to make a good mate?”

Hank’s smile faded.  _ ‘This guy is as obsessed with getting me married off and out of his hair as my father is’  _ he thought.

  
  


“I just… I dunno. Maybe it’s a little unrealistic for someone like me, but if I  _ did _ have to choose a mate- and to be honest I’m in no fucking hurry to walk that plank- I’d rather it be based on a genuine spark. Mutual respect, all that bullshit. Whether or not their dad’s got cash or they’ve got a fucking title seems kind of irrelevant to me. I mean, you’re talking about  _ the rest of your life  _ with someone, being  _ owned  _ by them if you’re an o-...” Hank sighed. “Living’s fucking unbearable enough as it is! Seems stupid to ruin it more by seeking out yet another fucked up asshole to answer to!”

Connor’s nose twitched and he frowned at the table. He’d never considered mating like that, but the truth is that’s what it was to an omega. His mother was an alpha, his father a beta. He’d never really known any omegas on a personal level; there certainly weren’t any at his academy. His mother said the laws regarding omegas were fair, and he’d never had reason to doubt that. He knew they were emotional, often irrational, and apparently they could be easily overwhelmed by the kind of decision making that came naturally to an alpha. It seemed reasonable, therefore, that upon being claimed by a mate an omega became property of their alpha. It was for their own protection, really. Omegas obey alphas and alphas keep them safe in return… that’s just the way things were. 

  
  


Connor watched Hank trace his finger around the petals of a rose that was growing at face height beside him, seemingly lost in thought. He saw Hank flinch as the group across the garden stumbled back inside, letting the glass door bang shut behind them. For a second, the image of Shaolin Ortiz, cowed and nervous, flashed before him. His stomach turned. Hank caught what must have been a pained expression, and leaned in across the table.

“What is it?” 

Connor opened his mouth then closed it again. He was reasonably sure they were alone now, but he didn’t want to take that chance, and chose his words carefully. They wouldn’t be overheard if he was quiet, but best stay vague all the same. 

“I think… perhaps you have a point. Mutual respect and … ‘all that bullshit’.” 

Hank smiled, feeling drunk and smug.

“I think… perhaps you deserve something a little less superficial,” Connor continues . “It would be…  _ regrettable _ if you were to end up... ‘tethered’ to someone who didn’t appreciate you as your own person.” Connor looked into this distance over Hank’s shoulder, and pretended he wasn’t blushing. 

Hank kept on grinning at him, regardless. The light from the lanterns shone on Connor’s hair in a way that brought out all the warmth in the deep brown shade. Hank found himself focused on a single, errant curl that looped down over Connor’s forehead: everything about Connor was so perfect, so cultivated and sculpted, that Hank wouldn’t have put it past him to leave that curl there on purpose. Maybe he thought it made him look softer or approachable. It made him look kind of dumb, especially when it bounced as he walked, but Hank decided not to tell him. He didn’t want to risk Connor combing it back from now on. 

Suddenly, Connor’s ears pricked up, then swivelled backwards on his head. He sat up straight, scanning the party behind them. He looked worried. 

“I don’t want to alarm you, Hank. But I think it might be best if I take you back to your bedroom now”

Hank blinked and felt his cheeks turn hot, and beetroot coloured. He went to speak, but what came out was a nervous jumble of syllables. Connor didn’t seem to pick up on the misunderstanding, and somehow managed to make himself even  _ less _ clear. 

“The ball has been lovely, but I think you’re about to turn back into a pumpkin” He muttered.

“What the f- …” Hank started, then he smelled it too: the unmistakable scent of  _ omega.  _ It was coming off him in waves. 

“... fuck.” Hank finished, quietly. 


	3. The Prince of Wishful Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two very intelligent adult men convince themselves that actions will not have consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to heat up now and will continue to next chapter, thank you for being patient with me
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

Connor walked quickly through the dewy, moonlit grass alongside the Palace wall, dragging Hank by his forearm. Hank kept stumbling, and Connor found that odd. Even with suppressants, two glasses of champagne shouldn’t have affected his motor skills this much. He put it down to Hank’s night vision being poorer than his, canines were somewhat blessed in that area. That being said, even Connor was feeling unsteady; the rich and heavy scent of omega was distracting him. The fur on his tail was bristling, standing on end, and he could feel a growing arousal in his stomach. His grip on Hank’s arm tightened, involuntarily. If they didn’t get Hank safely stowed away in his bedroom soon, there’d be more to worry about than his secret being discovered. 

Connor’s specific breed of canine didn’t just experience the normal heats and ruts other canines and hybrids did; if denied any sexual release consistently, they could be easily pushed into shorter, though no less powerful, ruts. Connor hadn’t had much opportunity for release of any kind in his life. He’d never had much exposure to omegas- his mother didn’t want him becoming distracted by them- and most omegas that came to his house as maids quickly became smothered with the scent of his brother’s indiscretions. Not that Connor spent much time at home, and Allen’s Training Academy had its students share large dormitories with little privacy and strictly no omegas were granted admission to the school. So on nights like this, when he felt that urge coming, he’d sneak off to the shower rooms when his fellow boarders were asleep. He’d lock himself in a cubicle, and let the rush of water calm his hot skin as he held back moans behind gritted teeth and violently fucked his fist over and over until his legs were weak and the ache subsided. His last night-long trip to the showers had been nearly a month ago, so it didn’t surprise him Hank’s scent was driving him this mad. 

They walked fast, locked in tense silence, as the hum of the party got further and further away. With Hank directing them, they made their way in through a door from the garden into the library. Connor stopped them at the doorway of the dark library before Hank could step out into the well-lit hallway. He peered around the doorframe, tail wagging anxiously, low near his ankles. They were safe to keep moving, and crossed over the hallway, ducking into a smaller corridor beside the main staircase.

At the other end of this corridor was the kitchen, and beside that a small archway leading into the servant staircase. No guests would think of using it, and servants had no need to access the upper floors during tonight’s event, so once they reached it they’d be relatively safe. As they walked briskly down the dimmer corridor, Connor noticed Hank’s scent carrying notes of distress. He was trying to think of something reassuring he could whisper to the anxious Prince, when he heard noise from behind a door further down the corridor. Hank must have heard it too because the distress in his scent amped up considerably. Both men froze. It sounded like voices, and Connor silently prayed it might be Palace staff, but from the laughter and plummy tones he knew it was more likely guests. He glanced behind them. The corridor was long, and even if they ran back to the library now they’d likely be heard or spotted. 

“That’s Fowler’s office. Fuck, I forgot he shares cigars in there with his old army buds, sometimes” Hank whispered, and when Connor looked back at him he saw all the colour had drained from the Prince’s face. He looked around them for a hiding place. There was a small door beside them, engraved with the words ‘Housekeeper’s Closet’, but before Connor could consider that, he heard a rattle. He turned to see the handle of the door ahead of them rotating.  _ ‘Shit’.  _ Connor moved fast. He hastily opened the door to the closet, and pulled Hank inside it after him by the collar of his tunic. He barely had time to reach past Hank’s waist and pull the door shut behind them before Fowler’s office door opened. 

They were enveloped by the darkness of the closet. Connor’s eyes were good in the dark, but even he was struggling to see in here. There wasn’t as much space for the two men as he’d hoped, and shelves were digging into Connor’s back. Their bodies were pressed close, cheek to cheek, with one of Connor’s hands trapped between them on Hank’s chest. He could feel Hank’s heart beat fast under the velvet, and his own pulse thumped in his throat. He let out his held breath, slow so as not to make a sound, and when he inhaled again he felt  _ dizzy _ from Hank’s scent. His eyes closed in the darkness, and he tried in vain to clear his head. 

Behind the door, he could hear a group of several men, some more drunk than others, stumbling out of Fowler’s office. They’d just have to wait for them to walk by, then, when there was no more sound, he could hurry Hank up the servant staircase. He could hear their footsteps getting further away. Nearly there. He swallowed, tilting his head up to the ceiling so his nose wouldn’t be so near the scent glands on Hank’s neck. This had the unfortunate side effect of leaving his own over exposed, and Connor realised this too late. He felt the exact moment Hank smelled his arousal. The Prince seemed to stiffen up in surprise, his heart racing faster and breath hitching in his throat. Connor screwed his eyes shut. He was already mentally rehearsing breaking the news to his mother that he’d lost the job opportunity of a lifetime because he couldn’t keep his urges in check. 

Outside, one member of the group stopped and pointed out a painted portrait of Fowler on the wall of the corridor, causing the entire group to stop and start teasing the large bear about the stern expression the artist had given him.  _ ‘Fuck, just hurry up!’  _ Connor shouted at them, internally. 

Then, he smelled the change in Hank’s scent: the distress was much fainter now, replaced by something… what was it? It reminded Connor of ripe cherries and dark chocolate. It called to him like a siren’s song, and without thinking, Connor found himself letting go of the inside door handle to the closet and placing his hand gently on Hank’s waist. The smell grew stronger. ‘ _ Oh.’  _ Connor brought his head back down to face forward in the darkness. This scent was  _ arousal _ . 

They may not have known it, but at that moment, both men were having the same thought. Right here in the dark, where they couldn’t look each other in the eye if they wanted to, there was a unique opportunity…  _ Perhaps _ , their hormone saturated brains told them,  _ they could get away with a little more here than they could outside. Yeah. Blame it on the forced proximity. They wouldn’t have to talk about it after. Back in the light of the corridor it might be like it never happened?  _ In their right minds, Hank and Connor would have seen this was a terrible idea. It would have been dismissed immediately as wishful thinking. But for two, touch-starved and sheltered men experiencing their first taste of closeness, wishes can become too powerful to be dismissed.

  
  


Suddenly, Connor was very aware of his hand on the Prince’s chest. The velvet was soft beneath it, but his mind was busy creating images in the dark, of Hank half naked, as he’d been coming out of the bathroom earlier. Connor’s fingertips dug in firmly, and he lost himself in imagining what the soft skin and curled hairs on Hank’s chest might feel like. His mouth watered. He wondered how close his hand was to one of Hank’s tempting, flushed nipples right now. God, they’d looked so perfect, so  _ biteable  _ earlier. Connor bit down on his lower lip hard and moved his hand over Hank’s left pec, letting his fingers stroke side to side. No need to think too much about what he was doing… Ah. There it was. Hank’s nipple started to harden through the fabric, and his head fell back on his shoulders. 

The sound of several older alphas laughing echoed in the corridor as they started walking back to the party again, but Connor barely noticed them. In the dark, he could just see the white of Hank’s neck in front of him, and from here it looked like he was presenting it to Connor. Hank was panting, as quietly as he could. His tail curled around them both and behind Connor’s thigh, pulling their bodies even tighter together. His large hands found Connor’s waist, palms so hot that Connor felt the heat of them through his blazer.

Connor leaned in, hypnotised by the thick, heady scent of arousal pouring off Hank’s neck. The tip of his nose made contact with the soft skin there, and he let out a hot frustrated breath against Hank’s throat, that made the Prince shiver slightly. Connor’s lips opened and his eyes closed. He wasn’t thinking anymore, couldn’t think. He felt like a part of him that had been asleep was waking up from a long hibernation, and it was  _ hungry _ . His hips pressed hard into Hank’s, and ground his erection into the growing stiffness in the Prince’s crotch. There wasn’t enough room in the closet to properly hump himself against Hank like he wanted to, but Connor was grateful to be moving slowly. It felt as though this moment of stolen hedonism was fragile, and if he moved too fast for Hank, the spell would break and he’d be pushed away. Neither of them dared to speak. 

  
Connor turned his face so his lips brushed against the rough hair on Hank’s jaw. He traced along the strong jawline, cherishing the feeling of Hank’s beard on his lips. Hank tipped his head down, and Connor looked up, letting his slightly, open mouth ghost across Hank’s cheek. He was so close to kissing him. He hoped it wouldn’t be too obvious this was his first kiss. 

A low, but powerful sound started up in Hank’s throat, like an engine stuttering to life. Connor froze and instinctively drew back, thinking it was a growl, but found Hank’s arms wrap themselves around his waist and keep him close. He was purring. It was beautiful. So much like his voice: rumbling and strong yet relaxed. Connor exhaled heavily and nearly laughed with relief. They were lucky the men outside had moved on, the way Hank’s purrs reverberated around the closet Connor was sure they’d have been found if anyone was still nearby. He took a moment to let his heart beat calm after the shock, sliding his hand up from Hank’s chest to rest gently on his throat so he could feel the vibration in each gorgeous purring breath. He leaned in. His forehead met Hank’s, then their noses touched for a second before sliding beside each other to allow their lips to get closer. Hank’s lips parted. 

Then, Connor smelt the rum. It was faint on Hank’s breath, but he’d know it anywhere. After his injury, and subsequent dismissal, Connor’s father had started to drink heavily. Rum and bourbon were his poison of choice on days when his mood was particularly sour and the smell still set the man on edge. What’s worse, was this meant Hank had had more to drink than he thought. The betrayal of that hurt only slightly compared to the pang of guilt Connor felt to realise he had no way of knowing exactly  _ how much  _ extra the Prince had been drinking behind his back. He could be too drunk to make choices right now, and the choice to kiss your bodyguard was one that required sober thought. Connor could hear his mother’s scolding already: ‘ _ Not only, were you so poor a guard that you allowed your charge to become drunk right under your nose, but after the fact you dragged him into a cupboard to take advantage? I’d expect this from your brothers, but Connor, I thought I could rely on you to make me proud’ _ she’d hiss. 

Connor moved his hand from Hank’s waist and reached behind him, opening the door to the closet and letting it fall ajar. A thin slice of light slipped in through the gap and Connor could see the confusion on Hank’s flushed face. Hank stopped purring. Connor pushed him gently on the shoulders to encourage him back into the corridor. 

“The coast is clear. We should hurry to get you safely contained, your Highness.” He tried to keep his voice somewhere close to respectful, but the curt way he enunciated the title betrayed him. He couldn’t help it. He was furious with himself for forgetting his station, his  _ purpose _ . A part of him was hurt Hank had disobeyed his order not to drink anymore, but he corrected himself mentally.  _ ‘He’s not your omega. He doesn’t have to obey you. He’s not ever going to be yours. This is your fault for letting your guard down’ he told himself.  _ He wouldn’t let it happen again. 


End file.
